What You Make
by rayrae118
Summary: They were both worn out. The world's latest crisis was wearing them thin, and they needed a few days with no hunts, no danger, and nothing imploding around them. They'd get back on saving the world next week. Or, the wall's come down and hell has been unleashed on Sam's mind. Dean would do anything to be there for his brother. Angst galore and tons of brotherly love!
**I've had this one line in my head for months, ever since I watched about ten and a half seasons of Supernatural in less than three weeks last fall, and dove head first into the Supernatural fanfiction archive. I love the brotherly relationship between Sam and Dean, and the tormented one between them and John. Canon-wise, I don't think John was as bad as he is in this story; I think he made a lot of mistakes, and he was crazy to draw two kids into such a dangerous world, and he most definitely went too far when training them. You can say it wasn't too bad, or he never actually beat them, but it's still abuse. However, this isn't canon, and I love writing dark fics, so undoubtedly, that's what this will turn out to be. So warnings for physical abuse, not too detailed but it's there. Also for mentions of torture. Timeline-wise, this takes place after the wall comes down, so early season seven I guess. Bobby's still alive.**

 **The title comes from Imagine Dragons'** _ **Demons**_ **. It's one of my favorite songs, and I always think of Supernatural when I listen to it.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.**

 _You and I had two very different fathers._

What the hell did that even mean? Dean was pretty sure Sam hadn't actually meant for him to overhear that muttered comment, but it hadn't stopped him from hearing all the same.

It wasn't like they had been discussing anything monumental; they were on a short break between jobs, crashing at Bobby's for a few days to regroup and recharge. They hadn't heard anything from the leviathans in a while, and despite Sam's protests that he was fine, Dean didn't want him to overdo anything. He was still wary of the hell that had spilled out when Cas had brought the wall down in his brother's mind. Sam could deny it all he wanted, but Dean knew him better than he knew himself. He knew what Sam looked like when he hadn't gotten more than a couple hours of sleep a night for over a week.

Nightmares. After the third motel and the third night where Dean had woken up at two AM to find Sam lying on the hood of the Impala gazing up at the stars with a blank look on his face, he had suggested the trip to Bobby's. Not that Sam knew that was why; Dean had let him have his privacy, and always pretended to be asleep when the younger man returned to the room a couple hours later.

But they were both worn out. The world's latest crisis was wearing them thin, and they needed a few days with no hunts, no danger, and nothing imploding around them.

They'd get back on saving the world next week. For right now, Dean thought they deserved a vacation.

The problem was, Dean didn't think his plan was working. Sam looked no more rested now than he had a few days ago, and Dean had woken in the middle of the night several times, to once more find an empty bed where his brother should have been.

So he had tried other tactics. Normally, his chick flick loving brother would be all about talking it out, hugging it up to make everything better.

But nothing. Dean had offered, made the suggestion, promised to lend a shoulder, whatever. Sam loved to talk about things, way past the point Dean thought was necessary; so why wasn't he doing that now? Every offer Dean had made had been met by a polite smile and a promise that he was fine, and he didn't need to talk.

Bullshit. Fine people didn't spend most of the night stargazing because of nightmares. Fine people didn't have moments where their eyes would glaze over as they focused on something no one else could see. Fine people didn't flinch at loud noises or sudden movement out of the corner of their eye.

Sam wasn't fine. So Dean had tried something else. When offers of talking about Hell didn't work, he tried to lighten the mood, remind Sam of some of the good times they had had as kids.

The problem with that was, those times were few and far between. Dean hadn't realized just how crappy their childhood had been, until he tried to bring up some of those stories. But he had done his best. He remembered a rare weekend where John had let them off training, and had taken them to a baseball game – it hadn't been until after he had talked about that weekend when he remembered that Sam had been sick, so it had just been him and their dad at the ballgame.

But there was also the time when John had taken them to an amusement park… no wait, they had been hunting a spirit that had been haunting the Ferris wheel.

But Dean had always enjoyed training, learning to fight; whenever he would master a new weapon and John would clap him on the back and say "Good job, kid."

Sam had listened to those stories passively, nodding in all the right places, but without a hint of a smile. His gaze remained fixed on a pile of junk cars in the distance. He wouldn't even look at his brother.

Dean lapsed into silence, not receiving the response he had hoped for. And then, just when he was about to try something else, anything to get a reaction out of the kid, Sam had muttered that offhanded remark and disappeared inside. Dean heard him climb the stairs, but he didn't follow.

Seriously, what the hell?

Bobby joined the younger hunter on the front porch a few minutes later, handing Dean a beer as he sipped from his own bottle.

"Kid's not fine," he said gruffly, glaring at the same pile of cars that had captured Sam's interest just a little while earlier.

Dean nodded in agreement and took a long swig of the beer. "I know my brother, Bobby. I know the kid better than he knows himself. But I can't figure this out. I usually have no problem figuring out what's going on in his geeky brain. So why can't I do it now?"

Bobby sighed, grimacing at the helpless tone. Dean did not do well with helpless. "He knows he can come to you, boy. Problem is, he's too self-sacrificing. Probably thinks he's sparing us, by not talking about it. Or maybe he's still trying to make sense of it all, himself. That wall only came down a little while ago. He ain't had too long to get used to the memories being back."

Dean nodded reluctantly, and then frowned in thought. "Hey, Bobby?"

Bobby looked over and raised an eyebrow. "Not liking that tone there, Dean. Sounds like you've got a problem you really don't want to solve."

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. I just… Sam said something before he went inside, and it's not… Just… did you ever notice anything… off? Between dad and Sam?"

Bobby expression sharpened. "Off how?" he asked cautiously.

Dean swallowed harshly. Bobby knew something. If he hadn't suspected it before, he definitely did now. There was no mistaking that tone of voice. "Like, anything wrong between the two of them. I mean, I know he wasn't always the best dad, but I never doubted that he loved us. But Sam… I just don't know. I was trying to get him to remember some good stuff, instead of whatever the hell happened in the Cage, and he just… wouldn't react. It's not like our childhood was sunshine and daisies, but it wasn't all bad. Was it?"

Bobby sighed wearily. "You should talk to your brother, Dean. I can't give you the answers you want."

"But you have them." Dean leaned forward intently, his expression determined and focused. "You know what I'm talking about. Tell me."

Bobby shook his head, his own expression regretful but understanding. "Dean…"

But Dean jumped in, not willing to let this go. "Bobby, he's my brother. If my dad did something, I need to know."

Bobby wavered. He wanted Dean to be having this conversation with Sam, but he doubted the kid would willingly submit to an interrogation. If Sam hadn't talked about it in the last decade, chances are he probably wouldn't do it now.

"Bobby."

It was the broken note in Dean's voice that fractured Bobby's will. He let out a long breath of air. "You have to understand, Dean, I really don't know much."

"Whatever you do know then, start there."

Bobby nodded reluctantly. "When your dad and I had our falling out. You were about nineteen then."

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah. Sam had just turned fifteen. We were staying here for a couple weeks right after he finished school for the year, researching a hunt. I went out to get some supplies, and dad called, telling me to meet him and Sam at the next town over. He just said that you were an ass and we wouldn't be coming back here for a while."

Bobby shook his head disgustedly. "Conceited asshole," he muttered under his breath.

Dean frowned. "Bobby, what happened between you two?"

Bobby grit his teeth. "John took exception to me 'tellin' him how to parent'. I walked in on a rather heated argument between him and Sam. Don't know what set them off, but I think John didn't believe the research Sam had done on whatever y'all were hunting. Sam was trying to explain his conclusions when your old man backhanded him across the face for 'talking back'. That's when I interfered."

Dean's jaw dropped. "Dad… hit him?"

Bobby bit his lip and nodded. His expression was pained as he met Dean's own horrified one. "Dean, Sam didn't look surprised or hurt at all. When he turned back to face John, he just looked… resigned. I've never been able to get that look out of my head. I doubt that was the only time."

Dean swallowed and closed his eyes against the burn of tears that threatened to fall. "What did you do?"

Bobby shrugged helplessly. "I grabbed John and threw him out of my house. Stuck a shotgun in his face and told him to get off my property." He stopped talking, and then with a deep, shuddering breath, continued, "I told Sam he was welcome to stay. Kid was already grabbing all your bags, following John to the car. He just looked… defeated. Like he didn't think there was any other option. He thanked me for the offer, but said he couldn't leave you."

A low keening sound filled the silence after Bobby stopped talking, and Dean realized that it was coming from him. "He stayed… for me," he whispered, gaze falling to the ground. "He could have left. I wouldn't have blamed him."

"You might have, if you didn't know why," Bobby commented. "I don't think Sam wanted you to know. You idolized your father, Dean. I saw it every time I saw the two of you together. You wanted to be just like him. Sam didn't want to take that away from you."

"He should have told me," Dean protested, his voice barely audible, words forcing their way past numb lips. "I would have left with him. I thought he knew, if it was between him and dad, I'd always pick him."

Bobby winced. "Maybe he didn't want to make you choose."

Dean groaned. "Shit, no wonder he ran away. No wonder he wanted out." His eyes widened suddenly. "Damn it, what did dad do to him after that? He didn't… he started taking clothes into the bathroom when he showered, he was up before me every day… he wouldn't let me touch him for two weeks. I thought he was just pissed that we found him and dragged him back." His mind filtered through all the memories of those few weeks after they had dragged Sam back from Arizona, when the kid was sixteen. Dean had been pissed, but their dad had been furious. And Sam had just withdrawn into himself. He hadn't offered up any explanations, not that Dean had been too willing to listen, even if he had. Things hadn't been the same between them, for a while after that incident. It eventually got better, but it was still a dark hole in their past that Dean didn't like to remember.

"You really should just talk to him," Bobby said, repeating his earlier thoughts. "He needs to get all this off his chest, whatever happened back then, and what's going on in his head now. Even if he doesn't know it, or doesn't think he needs it, he does need to talk about it. The memories are going to eat him alive if he doesn't figure out how to deal. Either that, or he's going to drop from sheer exhaustion. Don't think I haven't noticed how little sleep he's been gettin' lately."

Dean nodded in agreement. "No arguments here." He let out a weary sigh and pushed himself off the railing, heading inside. He stopped in the doorway and turned back. "Bobby?" The grizzled hunter looked up. "Thanks."

Dean headed inside, making for the room he and Sam shared. It was getting pretty late, but he didn't think Sam would be in bed already.

Surprisingly, the kid was, curled up under the blanket and pretending to sleep when Dean entered. The older man almost called his bluff, but decided it probably wasn't the best time, so he just changed into some sweats and a t-shirt, and lay down on his own bed.

He had a plan. As night deepened outside, Dean listened, knowing the exact moment Sam's pretend sleep turned to real sleep, as his breath evened out.

He also pinpointed the moment the kid's dreams turned against him, his breath hitching slightly. When he looked over, he had to force himself not to go to his brother and offer comfort; the moonlight threw Sam's face into sharp relief. His mouth was twisted in distress, and his eyes were scrunched up tightly. His hand was clenching his blanket in a death grip.

But Dean had learned his lesson about trying to wake Sam up with force. The one time he had tried it, he had gotten a black eye for his troubles. All it had taken was one touch to the shoulder, and Sam had been lashing out, mind still gripped by whatever horrors his dreams had caught him in.

It wasn't too much longer that Sam inhaled sharply, his eyes flying open. Dean quickly closed his own eyes, wanting to give Sam a few minutes to collect himself.

Predictably, the kid only stayed in the room long enough to quiet his breathing, before he threw off the blankets and left, his footsteps barely making a sound on the wood floor as he crossed the room.

Dean waited a few more minutes, before he followed his brother. As he had suspected he would, he found the younger man sitting on the hood of the Impala, hands behind his head as he stared up at the sky.

This time though, Dean didn't just watch from a distance, wanting the kid to come to him. This time, he took the step. He did make sure the door closed loudly enough behind him that Sam would hear his approach, though. He didn't want to startle him.

Sam didn't make any sound of acknowledgement, but he did shift over slightly as Dean walked up, leaving the older man room to join him on the car.

Dean did so without needing any further invitation, and turned his gaze skyward, trying to see what had captured Sam's interest night after night.

Neither one spoke for nearly ten minutes; Dean was determined to let Sam come to him on this. He wanted to know what was going on in his little brother's head, but he didn't want to force anything. He hoped that just being here would show the kid that he was ready to listen.

After ten minutes of silence, Sam let out a soft sigh. "You remember when you got back, and you said that you weren't going to talk about it, because there were no words?" His gaze remained fixed on the sky, and his voice was so quiet that Dean had to strain to hear him.

Dean nodded slightly. "Doesn't mean I shouldn't have talked about it anyway," he admitted, his voice just as soft, as if speaking any louder would shatter the uncertain calm. "And I'm not saying that because I want you to talk. Keeping it all in… it's not healthy. I should have gone to you, all you wanted to do was help me, and I shut you out. I was wrong to do that, Sammy."

Sam shrugged, still not looking at his brother. Dean wished he would just look at him. "Doesn't mean you weren't right too." Dean frowned and Sam grimaced. "The words… they just don't exist."

"Staring at the stars every night instead of sleeping isn't going to make those words appear," Dean pointed out.

Sam bit his lip, his eyes filling with pain. Dean could see it in the moonlight, even if Sam still wouldn't look at him. "There weren't any stars."

Dean felt his heart thud to a painful stop at the quiet admission. He had known there was a reason Sam kept coming outside, every time a nightmare woke him up. He had even thought it might be something like this. But knowing and _knowing_ were two different things.

Sam swallowed and turned his face completely away from Dean, though not before the older man caught a glint of wetness at the corner of his brother's eye. Tears. Sam was trying so hard to hold it all in. Because, what? Because he didn't want Dean to worry about him? Because he didn't want to burden Dean with his issues? When would he get that Dean _wanted_ that burden. That Dean had always wanted that burden? It was his to bear. Take care of Sammy. Watch out for Sammy. Never let anything happen to Sammy. It was and always would be his job.

"It helps," Sam admitted, his voice cracking slightly. "He was able to recreate a lot of things, but he never tried to recreate the stars."

Dean frowned in confusion, and Sam shrugged. Even if he wasn't looking at his brother, he knew that that statement hadn't made a lot of sense. "This place, my apartment in Palo Alto, various places we stayed at almost long enough to call home, anywhere that held any sort of significance… but he never tried to recreate the stars. Probably because it reminded him too much of his own home."

 _Lucifer_. Of course he wouldn't show Sam the stars. There was something so… pure, and good, about a clear night sky. Satan would have no use for that.

What could he say to such a horrible revelation? Dean just wanted to say something, anything that would help. But what came out was, "Bobby told me about his and dad's falling out."

Sam flinched, and Dean called himself ten kinds of idiot in his head. Of all the things he could say, he went with that?

"Dean…" Sam's voice trailed off, as if he didn't even know how to respond to that statement.

Dean considered leaving it. Sam had enough shit to deal with right now, he didn't need to dredge up the past. But now that it had been laid out in the open, he needed to know. "Was that the first time he hit you?" he asked, his voice soft. He kept his gaze fixed on Sam's face, willing the kid to just look at him. But Sam remained stubbornly turned away. After almost a full minute of silence, he shook his head slightly. Dean was the one to flinch now. "Was it the last?" Another shake of the head. Shame and regret was in every inch of Sam's six foot four frame. Dean didn't need to see his face to see that.

He wanted to rage and scream and raise their dad's spirit just so he could send him back to hell the hard way. But he couldn't make the wrong move now. If he got angry, Sam would think that he was mad at him, that he somehow deserved it. And he hadn't. He so hadn't. If there was anyone who deserved a childhood of happiness and love, it was his Sammy.

"I'm gonna kill him," was all he said, his voice strangely calm.

Sam let out a slightly hysterical snort. "He's been dead for years, Dean."

"I'm still gonna kill him," Dean retorted. "Nobody touches my brother and lives to tell about it."

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean really took over protectiveness to an extreme. Dean seemed to want to say more, to reassure Sam or offer more threats of violence, but he held back.

After another minute of silence, the older man let out a low sigh. "Sammy, I know things aren't exactly great right now, and you're dealing with a lot. But please don't shut me out. I know I don't do chick flick moments, but I'll do whatever you need, and I won't complain."

Sam bit his lip hesitantly. He wanted to talk to his brother, but he just didn't know how. He had meant it, earlier, when he said there were no words. Dean had been right about that, even if it had just been something to get Sam to stop pestering him at the time.

After a moment, he offered up a reluctant shrug, and slid off the car. "I'm gonna go back to bed."

Dean watched him go worriedly, knowing that a blow up was inevitable. Sam couldn't keep all this in forever, and the longer he tried, the worse it would be.

He gave Sam a five-minute head start, before he followed. When he entered the room that they shared, he wasn't surprised to find the kid buried once more in his blankets, facing the far wall. His eyes seemed to be closed, but he definitely wasn't asleep yet.

Dean let him have his moment, not trying to draw him into any more conversation, and lay down on his own bed.

 **XXX**

 _Slap._

" _Useless. Pathetic. You must be trying to piss me off, boy."_

 _Thwap._

" _You're a disgrace. Can't do anything right. What would your brother say if he could see you now?"_

 _Another kick to the ribs, and John's familiar face morphed into the one Sam recognized as Nick, Lucifer's 'temporary' vessel. He smirked amusedly. "So much… inspiration, Sammy. So much pain to choose from."_

Sam's eyes flew open, right as the devil began reaching for him again. He glanced over, somehow not surprised to see Dean watching him from his own bed, his face illuminated by the predawn light that filtered through the window.

Sam turned his gaze back to the ceiling, trying to avoid the knowing look in his brother's eyes.

Dean watched him in silence, pleading in his head for the kid to trust in him. It wasn't that he thought Sammy didn't actually trust him, he just wasn't sure Sammy trusted anyone with these particular memories.

After a few minutes of silence, in which the room brightened considerably as the sun began to rise over the salvage yard, Sam finally drew in a shuddering breath and let it out slowly. "You know the problem with letting an angel ride you? They have access to all your memories. The good… and the ones they can use to torment you later. Sometimes it's even the same thing."

Dean felt his thoughts stumble to a grinding halt. Of course. Dean had never even gotten a hint that there was something so horribly wrong between their dad and Sam before now, but Sam had had years to stuff it all down. But if Lucifer had seen those memories, and somehow used them against Sam in the Cage… and if all those memories of the Cage came flooding back after Cas brought the wall down… then of course Sam would be living it all again, as if it had just happened.

Sam rubbed a hand across his face, trying to get rid of the burning in his eyes. It didn't work. Disgustedly, he lowered his hand and stuck it behind his head. His gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. If he tried hard enough, he could almost get the image of Jess staring down at him out of his mind. A blink, and then it was his mother, looking at him accusingly. _Why, Sam? Why did you do it? All your fault._

Not true. In his waking moments, Sam knew it wasn't his fault. He knew that Lucifer still had his hooks in, and he knew not to listen to the whispers in the back of his mind. But sometimes, it all got screwed up, and Sam felt like he couldn't breathe with all the guilt crashing down around him.

Dean shifted so that he was on his side, better able to observe his brother. "How…" he had to clear this throat. "How many times did he use my face?"

Sam glanced over briefly, before turning back to the ceiling. "How many times did Alistair use mine?" Deflection. Maybe it would stop his mind from flashing to all the times Lucifer had used Dean, Cas, John, Jess, Mary, Bobby… he even stuck Joshua, Caleb, and Pastor Jim in there a few times, just for fun. Even the devil had to get bored of the same old shit after a hundred and eighty years.

Dean flinched. He hadn't thought Sam would even guess at the torture he had endured during his tour downstairs. But after Sam's own experience, of course he would be comparing them, wondering if what had happened to him, had happened to Dean.

Dean didn't want him to compare. He was positive that what Sam had gone through had made his own Hell look like a fucking cakewalk.

Sam nodded slightly, as if he understood exactly what Dean was thinking, what he was trying so hard not to say. "They know how to use us. We're each other's weakness, you had that right after I let Lucifer out."

Dean flinched again. He hated being reminded of how he had abandoned his brother for those few weeks, before he had realized how stupid he was being.

Sam sighed, looking over again. "It's not something I'm ashamed of. I'm proud of the fact that I'd do anything for you, Dean. I'm not sorry for that. But it just means that our enemies know how to get at us."

Dean hadn't known it was possible to love his little brother even more than he already did. They had both screwed up so royally over the years. Dean making that deal, Sam and the demon blood, trusting Ruby, Dean letting Sam walk away, pushing him away after their dad had died, not going to check on him more often when he was at Stanford, Sam spending a year away from him after getting out of the cage – though to be fair on that one, he hadn't had a soul at the time. Their screw ups were there, but through it all, they always came back to each other.

And what made it even harder for Dean was that he knew that Sam had never held his mistakes against him. He had put Sam through the ringer for everything the kid had done, but when it was Dean's turn to mess up, Sam was there with a shoulder and a smile and a 'it's gonna be OK.' Even when Dean had broken the first seal and then threw all the blame of the apocalypse to Sam for breaking the last one; Sam had _agreed_ with him. He had thought it was only right that it was all his fault, never mind that he had been manipulated by angels and demons, and that Dean had had his own part to play. He had immediately come at his older brother with a 'you didn't know.' But where had that sentiment been for himself? It wasn't like _Sam_ had known that he was breaking a seal with Lilith's death.

That was the problem, wasn't it. Sam was only too willing to forgive others for their transgressions, but he held himself accountable for everything. Damn, why hadn't Dean seen the kid's lack of self-worth before now?

"I've never been ashamed of that either," Dean said hesitantly. "I hate that you thought I might be. You're my brother Sam. I will always fight for you, no matter the cost."

"Ever think that might be where we both mess up?" Sam asked curiously, his tone of voice contemplative. Dean made a questioning noise, and Sam sighed. "We'll do whatever it takes to save each other. You made a deal for me, I kind of went a little crazy trying to get you out, went after the bitch who dragged you downstairs and started the end of the world, you made a deal with Death to get my soul back… ever wonder how much easier things might have been if you had just left me there in Cold Oak?"

Dean's heart thudded painfully and he sat up. "No." His voice was hard and determined. "My life is nothing without you in it, Sammy. I will never regret bringing you back."

Sam sat up as well, but his expression was more placating and understanding. "What's dead should stay dead, Dean. Remember that?"

"Not when it comes to you," Dean countered.

Sam looked at him knowingly. "Then the same has to hold true for you."

Dean frowned in confusion, his gaze softening minutely.

Sam nodded slightly. "If you'll do anything to keep me breathing, you have to remember that I will do the same for you. If you don't think your life is worth saving, then why should mine be any different?"

Dean let out a long sigh and slumped back against the wall. "I shouldn't have said that shit, Sam. I was angry at what dad had done, leaving us alone with no answers. But that didn't mean I wasn't relieved to still be able to watch your back. I can't believe you're still thinking about that. It was six years ago, man."

Sam shrugged and also leaned back, bending his knees and resting one arm across them while the other began drawing out distracted patterns on the blanket.

Dean felt the weight of everything his brother had been dealing with crash down around him. Every time Dean had blamed him for setting the devil free. Blamed him for using his powers because they came from demon blood and ignored the fact that he was using them to exorcise demons and leave the hosts alive. That entire year where he had counted down the days until he lost his brother; until Dean had gone to hell, all because of him. And then before that, when Dean had shut him out after their dad had died, when all he had been trying to do was help. Being mad at dad for making a deal to save him, knowing how he had felt over that, and then turning around and putting Sam in the same position.

Was that why Sam had been so mad? Because Dean knew that Sam had known how he had felt, knowing that dad had literally traded his life for Dean's. Sam knew the guilt he carried from that. And he had ignored it all, and saddled Sam with the same guilt. He had known that the kid would lose sleep over it, would feel the walls closing in at times, have days where he was unable to look Dean in the eyes knowing that it was all his fault his older brother was going to hell. But he had done it anyway. Because he didn't want to live without Sam. He hadn't even spared a thought for what Sam would feel.

Shit, he really was selfish, wasn't he.

He had also dragged Sam away from a beautiful girl and a bright future, all because he didn't want to search for dad alone. He hadn't even asked Sam if he wanted dad to be found. He was a little afraid to ask now, especially after what Bobby had told him, and what Sam had alluded to himself. He wasn't sure which answer scared him more, that Sam still loved dad after everything the asshole had put him through, or that he had never wanted to see the man again, but had gone along with the search because he didn't want Dean to know _why_.

Suddenly, he had to know. "Why didn't you ever tell me about dad?" he asked cautiously, looking over at the other man, hoping he would find Sam's hazel eyes looking back.

Sam winced and seemed to curl even further in on himself. It was amazing how small his little brother could make himself. It should be impossible for someone that tall to look so small.

"What does it matter now?" Sam tried to deflect, but Dean wasn't having it.

"I need to know," he replied, his voice pleading. "Bobby said he thought you might not have wanted to ruin dad for me. Please Sammy, please tell me you didn't stay for me. Please tell me you didn't think I'd choose him over you, or that you thought my hero worship of dad was more important. I would never have blamed you for staying with Bobby when he offered."

Sam grimaced and shrugged. "You loved him, Dean. You idolized him. He could do no wrong in your eyes. Every time we got into a fight, you always told me to stop antagonizing him and just do what I was told. I went to college because I didn't want to follow his orders right to my grave, and I couldn't stand to be around and watch you do the same."

This was what Dean had wanted? The words coming straight from Sam hurt more than talking with Bobby, or his own messed up thoughts, even if they said much the same thing. And the worst part was, there was no condemnation in Sam's voice, just quiet acceptance.

"You always come first," Dean whispered, hating that Sam had ever doubted that fact. "No matter how much I might have worshiped him when we were kids. It's always you, Sammy."

Sam looked uncertain as he bit his lip in apparent thought. "I wasn't sick," he said suddenly, abruptly. Dean furrowed his brow in confusion, and Sam looked down at his lap. "That ballgame he took you to. I wasn't sick."

Dean sat up straighter, his gaze narrowed, as he remembered the memory he had tried to bring up just last night, in an effort to remind Sam of some of the good times. "What did he do," he growled lowly, understanding dawning immediately.

Sam flinched, but he still wouldn't meet Dean's gaze. "I messed up. Not sure what I did, now, but he was mad. The next day, I could barely move, so he told me to pretend to be sick, and he took you out to that game."

Dean almost wilted in distress. How stupid had he been? Why had he always believed their dad? Why hadn't he looked out for Sammy like he always said he did? Shit, he really was a horrible brother.

"Not your fault." Sam always somehow knew what he was thinking, and what he needed. Whether it was a bar to avoid life in, a new case to avoid thinking about whatever was wrong, or just something to let out his anger on. How many times had he reminded Sam of dad, by throwing a punch because he couldn't keep the aggression in? And Sam just stood there and took it, never retaliating. _Shit_.

Dean shook his head slightly. "Doesn't make it OK. I should have known."

"I didn't want you to know."

Dean winced at the soft admission. "I still should have figured it out. It's my job to protect you, Sammy. It's always been my job, and I failed."

Sam glanced up at that. His expression was thoughtful but with a hint of amusement. "What do you think I was trying to do?" Dean just looked confused. Sam shook his head slightly. "You always say it's your job to look after me, to protect me, but where in all the shit that is our lives did you ever get that I don't consider it as much my job to protect you?"

Dean grimaced. "I'm the older brother. I'm supposed to be the protector."

Sam shook his head, rolling his eyes. "It's both our jobs, Dean. We've always looked out for each other. I just… didn't want you to worry. And I'm sorry you had to find out this way, after all this time, but please don't make a big deal out of it. It hasn't bothered me in years. Just… with the wall coming down and… everything that happened," Sam looked uncertain now, memories of the cage hovering right at the edge of consciousness, threatening to overwhelm him, "some stuff just came back. But you don't have to worry."

Dean was moving before he even thought about it, pushing Sam over on his bed so that he had enough room to sit next to the kid. He wrapped an arm lightly around Sam's shoulders and drew him closer, silently begging for it to work. "It is a big deal, and I always worry," he breathed, his voice so quiet he wasn't sure Sam had even heard. Whether he had or not, the younger man didn't reply.

It took a minute, but eventually, Sam relaxed, lowering his head so that it was resting on Dean's shoulder, the way he used to when the world got to be too much and all he wanted was his big brother to tell him that everything was going to be all right.

When Sam finally drew in a shuddering breath, Dean was there, holding him tightly and promising to never let go. "I've got you," he murmured under his breath. "It's OK, Sammy. I'm here."

Sam finally let a few tears escape, tired of holding it all in, just… "Tired of this," he mumbled back, burrowing further into Dean's shoulder. "Tired of seeing him every time I close my eyes."

Dean wasn't even sure if Sam was talking about dad or Lucifer right now, but it didn't matter either way. "I'm always here," he whispered, rubbing Sam's arm reassuringly, trying to keep the pain out of his voice. One of them breaking down at a time was more than enough.

"Just want to sleep," Sam slurred, his voice exhausted and defeated. "Memories… can't…"

Dean just held him tighter. "I've got you," he said again. "I'll take care of you, Sammy."

He continued to hold on, not talking but showing his support in the comforting arm he kept wrapped around Sam's shoulders. Sam blinked owlishly several more times, each time his eyes staying closed slightly longer before he forced them open once more. "Never could get you quite right," he mumbled under his breath. "Always knew."

That statement would definitely require visiting later, but for right now, there were more important things to focus on. "Sleep, Sammy," Dean urged. "I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."

And Sam listened to his brother. He let himself be surrounded by the comforting feeling of Dean's arms, and just knew that no matter what hell his nightmares might show him this round, the older man would be there to fight them off.

The world was still going to shit, the next crisis loomed on the horizon, and this was no more than a quick breather between rounds where all they seemed to do was get their asses kicked; but for right now, it was just Dean and Sam. And no matter what they faced and how many times they got knocked down, as long as they had each other in their corners, they would get right back up and keep fighting.

Always.

 _So, for my first venture into writing Supernatural fanfiction, how'd I do? Those last few words are a nod to the Always Keep Fighting campaign. Couldn't resist throwing it in there. Please review and let me know what you think!_


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